Читать книгу Witch Hunter - Shannon Curtis - Страница 14

Oh. My. God. She closed her eyes as he kissed her. His kiss was sweet, tender, capturing her lips in a firm yet delicate kiss. She sighed against his mouth, and then his other hand rose until both of his hands cupped her cheeks, and he deepened the kiss.

Warmth, slow and seductive, curled inside her. She could taste him. Coffee and male, a sweet and savory concoction that had her tilting her head back, wanting more. He smelled magnificent, all woodsy—sage, juniper and neroli. His lips were soft, yet firm. Supple. His mouth moved over hers, dancing almost, with a grace and skill that stole her breath along with her caution.

He slowly raised his head, and he was so close she could see his eyes behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. It was too dark to see any detail, but his gaze swept across her face, and then he stepped back.

“Uh, I’d best be going,” he rasped, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door.

She nodded. She would have said something—anything, only her brain forgot to kick-start again from the sensory overload.

He backed toward the door. “I’ll keep in touch,” he said, his voice husky.

She nodded. Yep. She would have said it, too, but she got only as far as opening her mouth.

He walked back through her workroom, then paused at the door that led to her shop floor. He gestured beyond to the front door, his brow dipping. “You should beef up your security,” he told her. “Maybe a perimeter spell.”

She blinked. Uh, maybe...? Only it wouldn’t be much use. Nulls. She half nodded, then shook her head as he departed. What?

She heard a motorbike start up outside, then sagged against her kitchen bench as she heard it roar away. She lifted her right hand and gently pressed her fingers against her lips.

The Witch Hunter had kissed her.

He’d kissed her.

Dave shifted on his bike as he rode through town. He was sitting just a mite uncomfortably. What the hell had possessed him to kiss her?

Well, she was attractive, in a fresh, girl-next-door kind of way. Sexy girl-next-door, though. And she was sweet. Too sweet for her own good, really. He shook his head. Tea. She’d given him a calmative tea because she’d sensed his turmoil at what he’d done to her. Who does that?

She was such a fascinating mix, though. Back on the beach, she’d given as good as she’d got. She’d matched him with her powers, and had fought him with a skilled strength that was impressive. And she was armed. He’d seen her belt. She seemed so sweet, so trusting, yet she carried twin blades, and had made him concerned for his ability to bear children. Sweet, but spicy. A contradiction of lethal innocence.

And he’d granted her a favor. He never granted favors. He was the collector of debts, and had a bank of favors owed to him from a number of members of Reform society, from vampire or werewolf primes—to light warriors. And he’d granted this witch a debt.

Maybe it was because every time he touched her, he lost time, lost awareness of everything save her. The scent of her, all floral and summery, her warmth, her gentleness—when she wasn’t trying to unman him—her...care. She’d minimized his effect on her, because she could see, feel, sense—however it worked with an empath—the effect of his job on him, and sympathized, putting his needs above her own.

That humbled him. He sensed her shields, though. They were impressive, almost tangible blocks to getting to know the woman inside—and he really wanted to get to know that woman. He could usually get a sense of people when he touched them...good, bad, past, present and future—he saw some of each. He was selective with his clients for that very reason. He didn’t ink up anyone with one of his spells unless they deserved it, or desperately needed it, needed his special brand of protection. Sully, though, well she consumed his senses at a touch, but those messages, those visions he normally received about a person were missing with her. The protective walls she’d erected within herself were stunningly effective, and it made him wonder why she felt the need to close herself off so thoroughly from those around her. It had to be exhausting, maintaining those protections.

He glanced about the town square as he rode around it. The diner still hadn’t opened, but there was a cluster of people at the bottom of the steps. Even when the place wasn’t open, it seemed to be the hub for the town people to gather and gossip. He recognized the waitress, Cheryl, who lifted her hand at him as he rode by. He gave her a brief salute in return, then turned at the end of the block. There was a bar at the far end of the marina, he’d discovered. He glanced at the docks. Most of the boats were out. He’d learned Serenity Cove wasn’t so much a vacation spot for cruisers, but a working fishing port. The salt and brine was distinctive, and he drove around the weighing station and the fishermen’s co-op, to the small parking lot of the bar at the end.

He parked his bike and set his helmet on the dash, uttering his security spell as he did so. That was one more thing he didn’t understand about Sully. Her store was poorly secured. One flimsy lock on the front door that a teenager with a penknife could pass. When he’d visited her home, he hadn’t sensed any blocks or shields there, either. As though she couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t know a witch who didn’t layer their security with any number of spells. Some were innocuous, some had painful elements invoked for trespassers. Personally, he preferred the painful variety. He didn’t have any patience for those who tried to steal or damage his property.